Zero Total War
by Darridus
Summary: This is the story of what would happen if events had spiraled out of control due to a single moment of indecision. Japan goes ahead with it's all of nothing resistance to the last man, and the effects are felt throughout history. This is the story of one man, hell-bent on righting the wrongs of his former homeland, no matter the cost. Rated M for intense violence.
1. Chapter 1 : Opening Move

The sunset was just over the horizon. It's orange light fell on the broken earth and the heat cast a haze in the humid air. But that was not the most prominent sensation felt by a group of children in a tiny village just off the road. The highways were unsafe for ones such as them, given to the current state of the country. Military patrols would often sweep them for refugees or stragglers, neither of which were treated with anything that could be misconstrued as decency.

No, the most prominent sensation that they felt was the smell. The stink of the little town they hiked through on their search for food and shelter was overwhelming. It was from the bodies, you see. Many of the houses and hovels in the village had been collapsed or even completely imploded in the carpet bombing of the countryside, and what few survivors that were left after that callous display of force were left at the mercies of roving mechanized infantry patrols.

Japan's own military had long since been routed to their strongpoints at Tokyo and Narita, the last bastions of resistance in the once proud and mighty island nation. The rest of the country was already under Britannian control. The massacre here had served no strategic purpose. It had been a callous, wasteful, and needlessly destructive effort to break the spirit of the Japanese people. And now the aftermath was laid bare here for all to see, as dozens of corpses littered the ground and fell slack out of windows or else partially buried beneath bombed-out rubble.

The Britannians had made no distinction between targets. Women and children joined their husbands and fathers as food for the carrion birds, as the Imperial Army slaughtered young and old alike.

Three children in total were left alive in the village, having just arrived here themselves. None of them were any older than twelve, too young by far to see such sights and walk away clean. Yet here they were, firsthand witnesses to the death of a nation. One of them especially felt the pangs of torment that would be inspired by such barbarism more acutely than most…for these were his people. He was Japanese, and his heart went out for the victims of this horrid war. It had been a blatant act of aggression from the very beginning, but this was just…_wrong_. It wasn't just that the atrocity had happened at all that grated on him. What really twisted the knife was that he couldn't help but wonder if he was partially responsible for this.

His father, Genbu Kururugi, had gone forward with his total resistance proclamation. There would be no surrender. There would be no end to this war until every remaining pocket of defiance was crushed by the Britannian Empire. He had tried to convince his father to no avail. He had even briefly considered something that was…unthinkable. He had contemplated driving a knife into his father's back as he prepared to issue his declaration to resist Britannia to the last man, but he had been paralyzed with indecision. Fear had robbed him of his chance, as Prime Minister Kururugi issued the order as planned. It had been carried out with all of the patriotic fervor and zealous outrage that Japan's remaining forces could muster.

They had fought them in the seas and oceans, they had fought them at the beaches, they had fought them in the jungles and forests and highways. They had fought them in the cities and in the hills, down to the very last man standing. Japan had made Britannia pay a price of blood for every inch of land.

But in the end, even that had not been enough. Tokyo had only just been secured by Kururugi's generals, and the only reason Narita was in Japanese hands for the time being was because of Tohdoh and his so-called "miracle".

It was a miracle that they were still alive, all right. But Suzaku suspected that that particular situation was highly subjective to change. He shook his head even as it hung low in despair as he trekked on, determined to get through the bombed-out village as soon as they could. Couldn't they see that they were just delaying the inevitable. This war hadn't done anyone any good, all it was doing was getting their people killed.

"B-Big brother…what's that…that smell?" A weak voice interrupted Suzaku's thoughts from the shoulders of his friend. Walking a little ways behind him, a twelve year old boy in dirty, bloodstained clothing carried an even younger little girl on his back. Suzaku could see the strain on his friend's face visibly, and had offered to help carry her if he was getting tired, but Lelouch would hear none of it. He wouldn't leave his sister alone. Not in a place like this.

Forcing a smile on his face that could only ever be described as false, he answered his sister's nervous question in kind, comforting tones. "Oh don't worry, Nunally." He said. "We're just walking near a caved-in sewage system. It might stink a little for a while, but it's safer here than on the road." Suzaku frowned at his friend. He wanted to tell him that it was wrong to lie to Nunally and hide things from her just because she was blind, and still optimistic despite everything. He wanted to say that, but he knew better. It wouldn't help her at all to know about all of the people Britannia had murdered here, and Lelouch understood that. He didn't want her to cry anymore. Suzaku had a feeling that there had been more than enough of that already.

As the three children drew closer to the center of the ruined village, the stench became sickening. Apparently, a few dozen bodies had been dumped in a hastily excavated mass-grave. Most likely the work of a countryside militia or something; The Britannians would have just left the bodies where they lay. Suzaku's fists clenched and he averted his eyes. Why? Why would they do this? What made the Britannian's do this? What was this in aid of?

These questions could never be answered to his satisfaction. The only things the Britannians would ever give him would be empty lies and glares of contempt. "It…It smells like iron." Nunally declared weakly. Neither Suzaku nor Lelouch knew what to say to her, so they both kept quiet. Crows were no longer circling overhead; a whole murder of them had come down to join in a feast even as the children grew hungry.

"Hey…Lelouch, I hear something…" The blind princess continued. Lelouch was a little ways behind Suzaku, now, so he waited for them to catch up. "It sounds like…" She began coughing. They were weak, feeble sounds. It wasn't the hacking cough of someone about to die, but it was the little cough of someone who's slowly going in that direction. That was a road Lelouch just wasn't prepared to go down, so he stopped in his tracks.

"Nunally…you need to save your breath, okay? Don't try to talk too much. We'll go get you a doctor when we get to Tokyo. You can tell me then." Lelouch tried to persuade her, but his gentle guidance seemed to fall on deaf ears.

"It sounds like…airplanes…?" She half-asked. Suzaku hoped she wasn't getting a fever. She might be delirious…and that wasn't a good sign. Not out here, alone, with no doctors or medicine for miles.

"Nunally…" Lelouch was about to repeat his earlier statement. Until…

_ZOOOOOOOOOOMM_….

We heard the planes, too. But those weren't the sounds of any of the airplanes we were used to. It was a harsh, piercing noise that shrieked through the air at supersonic speeds. Like a devil in the skies.

"Shit!" Exclaimed Lelouch. "It's a Britannian Air Wing! Get to cover!" He barked out even as he struggled to run while bearing Nunally's weight. Suzaku could maybe get to one of the ruined buildings, but Lelouch had never been physically fit, and with the added strain of carrying his sister to safety, there was simply no way.

The Britannian planes didn't wait for them to think of a solution. They were already overhead. Their engines could be heard roaring over all of the previous sounds of crying cicadas and cawing crows, but that wasn't what was troubling Lelouch.

Jets typically didn't engage ground targets; certainly not individual persons. He doubted that they'd been made as Genbu Kururugi's son and two Britannian political hostages respectively, so they most likely looked like any other wandering refugees. But he could hear the engines of the aircraft getting closer, so they were at least moving in this direction.

But they were far too slow for jet fighters in any case. They didn't have the distinctive beating of a VTOL gunship either...which could only mean one thing. It clicked. "Bombers! We have to move!" Lelouch shouted, although he was only just audible over the roaring engines of the Britannian aircraft.

Finally the imposing fliers were directly overhead. They were enormous, hulking things, capable of flight thanks only to modern technology. Their quadruple turbines rested on two broad, straight sets of wings that were each twice as long as the cylinder of the actual chassis. Unfortunately, they weren't really bombers, or rather they weren't being used for that purpose as of that moment. The orange light that illuminated the sky was partially eclipsed by the dozen or so black masses in the sky. They flew in an unorthodox formation, but that wasn't what really worried Lelouch.

No, the real problem was the slightly greenish smoke billowing from a vent in the back of each plane, and spreading in thick cloud over the ground. Looking back to the trees even as the three of them ran as fast as they could in the opposite direction, he could see the muted, pale green mist slowly creeping up behind them. "N-no…" he managed to get out.

But he hadn't been paying enough attention to the ground in front of him. He barely felt the toe of his foot impact the side of a half-buried construction brick before he was on his way down. He could only watch in horror and desperately flail his legs as he saw the dirt get closer and closer.

"Lelouch!" Suzaku shouted from a little further ahead. His eyes widened as he not only saw his friends hit the dirt, but also upon seeing the green cloud get closer and closer as the payload of the Britannian bomber wing started to make landfall. He was a little ahead of them, and he even saw a promising looking building that might be able to serve as cover for them…but only he was close enough to get there in time, and only if he left his two best friends to die.

The choice practically made itself. "Hold on, I'm coming!" He sprinted back to them as fast as his thirteen year old legs would take him, focusing only at the task at hand. He only knew one thing; they had to get through this. He had been the one who had let his father do this to their country. He had stayed his hand, and the image of the letter opener he had held and considered for the briefest of moments flashed before his eyes. He would have to live with his choice. But he would be damned to hell forever if he let Lelouch and Nunally die because of it.

"Unrgh!" He grit his teeth as he helped Lelouch up to his feet. It was made harder because Lelouch's own hands were occupied trying to hold on to Nunally. "No no no no…" His friends eyes were wide open and streaming tears, and Nunally was sobbing in terror and confusion. She had no idea what was happening.

Suzaku slung Lelouch's arm over his shoulder, and together they dashed over to the building he had noticed earlier. "No…Suzaku…I'm too slow…" Lelouch said between hurried breaths. He couldn't do this. "You…you have to take Nunally…" He pleaded with him. "Take Nunally…and leave me!" He shouted in a raspy, desperate voice.

Suzaku looked at him with a horrified expression even as they did their best to quicken the pace. The ugly green mist was nearly upon them, only a few meters away and gaining fast. "Damnit Lelouch! No one is dying here!" He shouted over the billowing of the smog and the roaring engines of the bombers. "Come on!" he tried to encourage his friend, but even he could tell that Lelouch's abused limbs were finally starting to fail after weeks of torturous hiking with little nourishment.

"No! Leave me! Save Nunally! I'm dead, Suzaku…I'm dead no matter what, so take Nunally and LEAVE ME!" He yelled with the last of his strength. After that final desperate plea, he tripped again, and he knew that there would be no getting back up from this one.

"NO!" Suzaku screamed, and he grappled Lelouch with both of his arms. He lifted with every ounce of muscle he had built up over the years training with Colonel Tohdoh, and prayed to every god he could think of to grant him the strength to save them.

Whether by divine intervention or fortuitous preparation, Suzaku somehow managed to lift Lelouch up and sling him over his shoulder, just in time. He went off in a mad dash to the bombed out building he had selected. It's door and window was missing and it was all dark inside, but it still had a roof. They might make it if they stayed down.

And then the unthinkable happened. "Aahh!" Nunally cried out as she lost her grip. Lelouch couldn't properly support her in this position either, and Suzaku had at this point built up too much momentum to stop immediately.

"No! No no Nunally, God, no!" Lelouch ranted madly in horror as he was powerless to save his sister even as the green cloud consumed her prone form lying on the ground just as Suzaku reached the precipice of the bombed out hovel. Thinking fast, he literally _threw_ Lelouch into the makeshift shelter and immediately dashed off as fast as he could…into the toxic green cloud.

The effects were immediate as he felt whatever chemicals that were in the cloud start eating away at his skin. He forced his eyes to remain open even as he felt them burning in and watering. His lungs felt like they were on fire with his first whiff of the poison in the air. Nunally had only fallen a meter or two away from the house, so maybe if he was lucky, she could still be saved!

He saw her lying there, huddled into a ball on the ground. He had been carrying both her and Lelouch for a good distance, so it took no effort at all to lift the smaller child and turn around in a simultaneous display of adrenaline-fueled coordination. "Stay with me, Nunally!"

He ran off like lightning through the cloud even as he felt like his skin was melting away from the bone and his eyes fogged up uselessly. Even when he felt the orange light of the sunset again the burning didn't stop, but he knew he had to be out of the cloud now.

Acting on instinct, he jumped high into the air and just barely managed to claw his way in through the open window socket in the bombed out building where he had deposited Lelouch. He hit the hard stone of the floor with all of the momentum of his desperate running behind him, and he felt the wind evacuate his lungs. He didn't black out, but he didn't move at all for a long time. He felt the continuous burning of the chemical cloud finally start to fade into a low, constant sting. He could see again, at least, but his eyes still felt like they were swollen and watery.

"Hey…" He called out later, at some point. He was still lying there on his side, but he had at least saved his friends. "Hey." He called again, with a little more strength this time. He got up and turned to look around. None of the green mist had actually seeped into the house, yet. It hadn't actually been following them in the first place he supposed, it had been dropping in from overhead. Whatever chemicals that permeated the vile cloud of toxic dust probably weighed it down enough that it wouldn't naturally flow in with the air, and the day hadn't been windy at all either. Thank god for small blessings. "Lelouch? Nunally? Where are you? Are you still there?"

He called out to his friends in the hopes that someone would answer him. He looked from left to right, but the room was dark and his eyes weren't really in any shape to adjust that easily. He walked through a dark doorway.

He found himself in a room that may have been the kitchen at one point. Unfortunately, whatever bombing run that had destroyed the building also got to the fridge and the pantry in here. He grimaced at the sight of crushed and rotting food that spilled out on the floor next to a section of the wooden ceiling frame that had collapsed on top of the pantry. Looking up, he only saw more darkness. It probably led to the attic rather than outside, in that case.

He shook his head. There was nothing here for him, or his friends. He back to the living room at the front. In a way, he guessed, that term was doubly appropriate now. The kitchen had been a dead end, and there was only one other doorway in this room he could walk through that didn't lead to the green cloud still lingering outside. He idly noted that it was a little less thick, now, but still obscured what was left of the village.

He found his friends at the end of the hallway. Lelouch was sitting there, leaning with his back to the door. Nunally was laying in his lap, eyes still shut tight as they had been for as long as he'd known her. "Lelouch…?" he called out as he slowly approached his friend.

Lelouch didn't look back at Suzaku. He didn't give any indication at all that he had even heard him as his disheveled hair covered his eyes.

But apparently, he _had_ heard the other buy, and delivered his reply in a low monotone. "…Why?" He asked. He was just staring down at Nunally as she lay motionless on the cold floor. "_Why didn't you leave me?_"

"Lelouch…" Suzaku wasn't sure what to say. What had happened?

"…I see. You don't even know, do you…" Lelouch asked again cryptically. "Don't you get it?! _Don't you realize what you did_?!" He lifted his eyes in a piercing violet glare. Suzaku wanted to look away, except…

He turned to look down at Nunally, and finally got it. She hadn't moved at all the whole time Lelouch had been shouting. The telltale rise and fall of her chest was unmistakably absent "No…" He whispered.

"Yes, goddamnit! She's…she's…" hot tears streamed down and he collapsed to his hands. "Nunally is…Nunally's dead, Suzaku…T-they…the Britannians _killed_ her!"

* * *

2 Years Later…

The birds chirped as they drank from the font of sugar water someone had hung outside of the classroom window. Lelouch idly took note of it as yet another hypocrisy of the Britannian mindset- offering charity to animals against the tenets of their own Darwinist philosophy. He scowled even as his eyes turned to better things. He had merely needed a distraction for the dreadfully boring moment in which he turned the page. It had become a pet peeve of his, in recent years. The turning of the page was a moment in which he gained no knowledge. It was a moment in which he did not better himself. It's only productive value was to grant him access to additional knowledge inscribed on the next page.

But as he had thought many times before, it was simply _too slow_. In that tiny, insignificant moment, he could have read one, perhaps two, or even more new sentences. New knowledge he could have obtained. An ordinary person would have scoffed at this seemingly petty annoyance, but Lelouch was not so small-minded. He knew that every moment counted. He had learned that lesson a long time ago, in fact. Something as small as a single second could be the difference between life and death.

His aggravation abated as the moment passed, and he was able to bring his focus to more important matters. Today he was reading a book on advanced electrical mechanics, the 2nd volume in a series on the subject. Electricity was a fascinating concept, and it was actually very applicable to his own purposes.

The first records of electricity being used for military applications indicated that it was not in fact pioneered by humans. It was used in nature. Electric fish, as they were called, were creatures that could generate electrical fields biologically. They used them as a defense system to deter predators, including humans. The ancient Egyptians called such fish "Thunderers of the Nile", a sort of soldier-caste of fish responsible for protecting all of the other fish. He found it incredibly amusing that supposedly primitive ancient societies like the Egyptians at least managed to grasp simple concepts that Britannia seemed to have trouble with, such as the idea that soldiers are supposed to _protect_ weaker members of their society.

Lelouch actually read quite a bit. Books were a wealth of information compressed into compact, portable packages that he could discreetly pore over as the class moved on without him. The instructor had long since given up on asking him questions at random intervals; Lelouch was well-read enough that he could consistently answer anything the man could think of. His perfect test scores were also a deterrent against any meddling, and it wasn't like he was being disruptive.

He was about halfway through the book, now. He had started in yesterday afternoon , right after he finished the first volume. It was mid-morning, now, so by his estimates he would finish this book before lunch. When a book was interesting, he could read it faster than most people would think possible. This wasn't out of any actual academic interest, of course. It was a hunger of sorts. A desire for any and all knowledge that could help him attain his goals. Anything that could possibly further his agenda would be devoured and processed, and then he would move on to the next book and repeat the whole thing.

And he had come a long way since he first showed up on the Ashford's doorstep, two years ago this week. In that short amount of time, he had read hundreds of books. He had virtually emptied out their library of useful knowledge in the first year alone; these days he had to seek knowledge elsewhere. The internet wasn't a very reliable source, and bad information was worse than no information at all. So, he had little recourse but to spend his allowance buying books independently. Ruben Ashford gave him a monthly stipend that was more than sufficient to cover his reading costs, as long he didn't indulge in any other serious expenditures.

"RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNGG…"

He had just finished yet another page when the bell rang, signaling the end of class. That meant that he had precisely ten minutes to get to second period, history class. Lelouch did his best to tune out the obviously skewed Britannian history lessons during that class, and only read enough of the books to pass the class. It took him between three minutes three and a half minutes to get there if he walked a brisk pace, provided there were no distractions. That left him with seven minutes to finish this chapter in his electrical mechanics book give or take the few seconds it would take him to switch out this book with the other one in his bag- a book on social engineering.

Unfortunately, it looked like he may have to compress that time to a more compact schedule. Milly Ashford was approaching him and making eye contact, an obvious nonverbal signal that she wanted to open a dialogue with him. Rivalz Cardemonde and Shirley Fenette were following her, and eyeing him wearily. He supposed that this would be a good time to practice an field exercise for social engineering; how to get gregarious teenagers to leave him alone without offending the daughter of his benefactor.

"Lelouch!" Milly Ashford was the only one of them to greet me, which was understandable. I had never voluntarily engaged either of the other two in conversation before of my own volition, and had in fact rudely brushed off both of them on multiple occasions before I became aware of their connections to Milly Ashford. It was unwise to alienate them when they were friends with the Ashford daughter, and doubly so for their placement on the student council. They could do much to inconvenience me.

"We, um, wanted to ask if you would walk to class with us." She offered with a seemingly genuine smile on her face. He knew better than that, though. He had rejected similar offers consistently, which no doubt grated on her nerves. In truth, her constant interruptions into his busy schedule were most unwelcome. On the other hand, he didn't want to risk upsetting her either. Best to remain polite.

"I'm afraid I must decline. I'm in a hurry to get to class, today. I appreciate the offer, though." He replied in a boring, monotonous, and excruciatingly exact language. He had learned a long time ago that you should think about what you say before you say it. Speaking out of turn was what brought about this whole situation.

"Oh. Okay. Maybe next time, then!" She seemed downcast, but put on a bright façade towards the end. She had always given similar replies when he rejected previous offers for socialization. He couldn't learn anything from them that he couldn't simply observe from a distance in a more controlled scenario, so there hadn't ever been a reason to take them up on their offers.

* * *

History class went by much more quickly than usual, he noticed as the bell rung for the second time that day. He had read more than one book on social science before, of course, but this one had been particularly educational. He had skipped several chapters filled with redundant information; there was no better way to waste time than to read about things you already knew. What had really interested him was the chapter about various historical uses of social engineering on massive scales used to manipulate an entire society. For instance; the Assyrians were famous for the brutality they inflicted on rebellious provinces and tribes. They would flay men alive and spread their skins about a city gate, and impale the skinless corpses on long wooden stakes around the walls. A dire warning to all others the fate of any who rebelled would rebel against their rule. Even the Britannians would shrink from such barbarism. Not out of any kind of morality or principles, but rather because it would make them look bad to their own subjects.

It was interesting because while it seemed unnecessary and gratuitously violent, it wasn't. It was a practical decision made by a wise king who had exhausted all other available options. He killed only those who rebelled and conspired against him, but he killed them with every ounce of terrifying brutality he could muster. He then made use of their remains in order to serve as a warning and posted them in a public place where all could see. It also reinforced a truth that Lelouch had known for quite some time now; Actions speak louder than words.

2nd period, now over, gave way to third. He had read everything that interested him in his second book, exhausting his reading material for the moment. Now that he had trained his mind, it was time to train his body.

Gym class had always been easier for him than the other students. It made sense, really, given his own intense training regimen that he pursued on his own time. The guest house the Ashfords had provided for him had a small gymnasium of it's own, which Lelouch made use of for at least two hours every day. Every day for about two years, he had put himself through grueling and accelerating physical conditioning. He had learned his lesson two years, one month, and eighteen days ago today. Mental weakness, lack of will, ignorance, these were the follies that led to the downfall of most men. However, his own experience with the Britannians had taught him that physical weakness could be just as deadly.

Her death was a direct result of his own physical weakness, and it had been the most painful lesson he had ever learned. Compared to that, the minor aches and sores of his own body meant less than nothing.

Ashford Academy was very lax in it's treatment of physical education. The other classes were taught by certified professors from all over Britannia, while Gym class was taught by a variety of part timers. Many of them were also university students themselves, working their way through college. None of the other students treated the class very seriously, and the teachers were content to let students do their own thing. It suited him well enough.

Many of the students walked the track, out of marginal commitment to their personal health or out of a desire to maintain their body weight. They tended to cluster in groups and engage in conversation as they walked, treating gym as a time for socialization and gossiping.

So Lelouch was alone as he sprinted around the track. He had invested some of his allowance in a pair of running shoes which he wore for most of the day. They were comfortable and easy to run in, and he had gotten them in black so they were inconspicuous against Ashford's uniform. They made little noise on Ashford's polished marble floors, which sealed the deal in their favor as his standard footwear.

Lelouch typically spent the whole class running along the track. It was 250 meters all the way around, so four laps was one kilometer. His set goal for every class was fifteen kilometers, so that meant he would need to finish sixty laps around the track by the time class was over. He hadn't been running such long distances in his first year of course; he had gradually worked his way up using a systematic schedule of graduating distances for the last two years. He planned to graduate to sixteen kilometers by the end of the month.

The other students at Ashford Academy had long since gotten used to his exercise habits. Many of them simply assumed he was in a sports club, or just very serious about athletics. Neither of these things was true, of course. He had no desire to put himself in the spotlight by participating in any athletic competitions, after all. The last thing he needed was to be rediscovered by the Britannians at this stage in his plans.

About an hour and a half later, he was drenched in sweat and his legs were mildly sore. He had finished early today, which gave him plenty of time to shower and change back into the standard black and gold-trim uniform of Ashford Academy. After that was taken care of, he grabbed his bag and proceeded to lunch.

If gym class seemed a half-hearted affair at Ashford, they more than made up for it with lunch. A full kitchen and serving staff waited on a huge banquet hall five days a week, and students simply took what they liked from the full-course meal laid out by the servants five minutes into lunch. Unlike most schools, Ashford allowed a full hour and a half for lunch. It made sense, as this catered to the tastes of the rich kids who were used to all the comforts of home while they were at school. It was one of the selling factors for a lot of the wealthy families who shelled out the exorbitant tuition for an otherwise publicly available service. Say what you like about the Ashford family's pedigree; their promises of an enriched educational experience were genuine.

Lelouch himself brought his own lunch. About halfway through the summer he had run out of books in the library and his own collection that he deemed useful, and had no more disposable funds with which to acquire more. He had little recourse but to wait until the next month. There were other ways he could hypothetically gain more income, but none of them had appealed to him at that moment. They were either too risky or too overt for his liking.

Therefore, he had made himself a list of 'secondary objectives', so to speak. Knowledge that wasn't necessarily useful for any situation he anticipated finding himself in, but could theoretically be useful for unforeseen situations.

To that end, he had decided to take up the culinary arts.

Not only did it have the practical applications of allowing him to hand-tailor his own meals to maintain health and energy in conjunction with his physical training, but it also gave him the opportunity to learn a little bit of culture as well. Every book he had ever read on the subject agreed that people would be much more pliant if you had a good grasp of their culture, and a surprising chunk of most cultures was centered around food.

Like every day, he had packed his own lunch this morning. He had taken to scheduling his meals in tandem with his exercise schedule to maximize his growth, so his lunch consisted mostly of calcium, proteins, minerals, and plenty of vitamins. He always had more or less similar combinations of meals; fruits, vegetables, meat, some dairy, and mineral water or fruit juice. He covered most of the major food groups except for grains. Grains consisted mostly of carbohydrates, and while a certain amount of them was healthy in lieu of any other source of carbs, grains didn't contribute anything else to growth. Fruits and vegetables had carbohydrates and fiber, plus vitamins and minerals. Meat contained carbohydrates and protein, which was essential for muscle growth. Dairy had plenty of carbs as well, but more importantly contained calcium. Calcium contributed to bone growth, in other words height. He had learned enough about culinary science to draw out a balanced diet with an emphasis on bone and muscle growth, and overall health. Combined with his rigorous training, he cut a very intimidating figure for a fourteen year old.

Granted, his fifteenth birthday was in just three months, but he had not actually celebrated those-or much of anything, really- for over two years.

Lunch provided him with the opportunity to work on another subject that interested him as well. Lelouch hated wasting time, and that included doing only one thing when he could be multitasking. He would of course grant important tasks his undivided attention, but it was more than possible for him to eat and work at the same time.

With that in mind, he carefully removed his laptop from his bag and set it up on the table. It booted up in about four seconds.

His laptop wasn't made by any of the major Britannian computer manufacturers; it was of his own design. He had gotten in to computer science and programming in his first summer at Ashford. There had been plenty of books on the subject in the library, and ample materials were around if you knew where to look.

Desktop computers had been phased out of popular use for some time now. As miniaturization technology marched on, computer manufacturers were able to make laptop and tablet computers that were just as powerful as their desktop counterparts, and much more mobile. Thanks to Britannia's favorable resource arrangements with the various areas in their empire, economic conditions in the homeland were actually rather prosperous. Luxury products like miniaturized computers were thus selling quite well, which caused older desktop computers to fall out of use.

Many of the students here at Ashford owned their own tablet or laptop, being from wealthy families. They had no need of the older desktop computers that had been in use from around 2000-2010. Thus, Ruben had decided to put the older computer and AV equipment that some of the more technically inclined student clubs had used before the advent of newer technology into storage beneath his guest house. The bulky cameras, microphones, and desktop computers of yesteryear couldn't do anything that the more elegant and compact tablets couldn't do by just downloading an app.

This was quite fortuitous for Lelouch. The basement under his guest house was where he spent much of his weekends. He had converted it into a makeshift workshop of sorts. Ruben had questioned him about it of course, but he simply told his benefactor that he had an interest in technology. Ruben had actually been quite pleased to hear that he had a 'hobby', and had given him a few extra pounds to get started with.

Over the course of that summer, he had spent almost every waking moment learning everything he could about computers. They had fascinated him like nothing had before or since. Even his old penchant for chess paled in comparison to the vigor and energy with which he pursued computers and all of their mechanics. He had learned about both the programming and construction of computers, which had led into his studies in mechanical engineering necessarily.

The end result of that summer's labor was his laptop. Most people preferred tablets, but the parts he had available to him simply weren't small enough to fit into such a compact frame. His own laptop was fairly bulky already. Still, it had been more than worth it. His studies into programming, construction, electrical wiring, and mechanics had all contributed to the machine's sheer efficiency in contrast to other similar devices. His laptop had the processing power to rival early supercomputers thanks to the advanced parts he had cannibalized from a newer tablet he had ordered. It was a top-shelf model, and he had saved up for it specifically to use it's higher quality components to upgrade his laptop. It booted up quickly enough so that a minimal amount of his time was wasted idly waiting for it to start up. Not only that, but his knowledge of programming was sufficient to have designed his own customized OS for it. It had been designed with both him and his machine in mind specifically, so it was the most efficient OS available to him.

He always took lunch to work on his programs. He had been working on this project for quite some time, now, and it was nearing completion.

Obviously, his main goal was and still is the destruction of the Holy Britannian Empire.

That was the main agenda. That was why he had spent these two long, lonely years spending every waking moment bettering himself. Improving himself, in preparation for the coming war with Britannia. That was his only goal. Ever since that day two years ago, the only thing he could think about was _revenge_.

It wasn't always like this, of course. Those first few weeks had been hell. He had walked, alone, on his way to Ashford in a daze. He had been bleeding and starving when he came to Ruben's doorstep, and his mother's longtime ally had graciously taken him in. The war had been easier on the Ashford's than most, so Lelouch was able to live easily for awhile.

But it wasn't enough. He had spent the first month or so writhing in impotent rage. The most important person in his life had been _stolen_ from him. _Twice_. And the man responsible was sitting there on his throne in Pendragon living a life of luxury, power, and prestige. It wasn't fair.

He idly tapped away at the keyboard, half of his mind focusing on the task at hand and the other half reliving his hellish and meaningless existence of that first month at Ashford.

He had been wronged. Britannia had taken everything from him. His home. His family. His life. He had been wallowing in despair for days…and then he came to a revelation. Ruben had knocked on his door and requested that he join him in his car.

Lelouch had complied, hesitantly at first. His capacity for trust had shrunken significantly since the onset of the war.

Ruben had been quiet, and he had looked a little sad. He told his driver to take them to the Shinjuku ruins. They drove for around an hour or so before they arrived.

The sight that greeted him was maddening.

All around him, not ten meters from the polarized windows, he saw the most disturbing sight he had ever seen to this day. _Filth_, was the word. And the Japanese were _writhing_ in it.

The war had not been kind to the once proud Japanese people. Britannia had engaged in bombing campaigns, deforestation, massacres of civilians, and every other atrocity they thought would help them break the spirit of the besieged islanders.

Postwar 'reconstruction' measures undertaken by the Britannians had been…extreme, to say the least. The Britannians forbade the Japanese to from calling themselves as such, and even renamed their own homeland in Britannia's twisted image. Area Eleven.

It was a cruel and dehumanizing label the Britannians used to keep their subjugated people under their thumbs. They would strip away all culture, art, freedom, and dignity from the conquered people. They would kill their loved ones, burn down their homes, steal all of their resources, and then tell themselves at the end of the day how just and righteous they had been to _uplift_ an unenlightened nation that had _provoked_ their measured _response_. It sickened Lelouch to his very core to know that he had been born of the same stock as those vile cretins.

He hated them. His trip to the ghetto made him really understand that. As terrible and horrific as his journey across the Japanese countryside had been…he saw that it was nothing compared to the state of Japan as it was today.

A shell of a formerly beautiful and proud nation. Women and children grew up thin and scrawny, with their skin stretched out over ribcages and wearing nothing but rags while the Britannians lived in their glistening modern utopia in the various colonial settlements. The manhood of Japan was no better off. After the invasion and subsequent total resistance campaign by the military, Britannia had been forced to pay in blood for every inch of land they took. Their 'superior' Knightmare technology had availed them little when the SDF adopted a guerilla-styled scorched earth campaign against the Britannians. Many of the once rich Sakuradite mines had actually been collapsed to deny the Britannians any gains they might have made from the campaign. Japan still hosted the world's most abundant supply of Sakuradite, but the Britannians had been forced to rebuild much of the infrastructure out of their own pocket.

That had not gone over well with the already bloody-nosed conquerors, and their wrath was self-evident in today's Japan.

For one thing, all surviving men of military age had been interred in hundreds of prison camps in remote areas of Japan. There were several such camps in the mountains and devastated countryside, and many of the larger camps were off the coast. Britannia wanted to send a message to any other nation that might think to try a similar resistance campaign. Even with their vast material resources and veteran armies, their empire would collapse practically overnight should every area have demonstrated the level of resistance Japan had.

They would never admit it, but the Britannians had been _scared_ by what they found in Japan. A people who would not bend to their will.

Conditions for the women and children left behind in the ghettos had not improved either. In many cases, they were in fact worse off than they had been during the actual war. The average Japanese could not do any meaningful work or receive any kind of higher education; doctors, mechanics, industrialists, bankers, bureaucrats, scientists, and every other unique talent was taken along with the soldiers to be interred in the various concentration camps around Area 11.

The Britannian media painted the prisoners as dangerous radicals and potential terrorists, but what was more chilling was the lack of actual media access to the camps. Britannia was pretty brazen with what they had done to Japan during the war; every single Japanese corpse was labeled as an 'enemy soldier', regardless of their actual status as noncombatants. Lelouch had experienced firsthand exactly how much discretion the Britannian military could be expected to show.

The civilians left behind were strictly relegated by their Britannian conquerors to either back-breaking hard labor or humiliating service industry jobs. Service jobs were typically only available to those who took advantage of Britannia's 'generous' Honorary Britannian system.

In simple terms, it allowed those Japanese who were willing to pledge eternal loyalty to the empire and it's ideals and give up the last shreds of dignity they had in exchange for being treated as second-class citizens rather than as the animals that ordinary 'Elevens' were treated as.

The whole experience had served to put the current state of Japan in perspective for Lelouch. He had been wallowing in sorrow, like a spoiled child. Worse, he had been decrying the injustices of his own situation without even a hint of what had befallen Japan's native people.

No one had time to worry about his dead little sister. No one cared that the Britannians had killed his mother and taken his whole world away from him in the space of a year. After all, it was probably one of the most common background in Japan for boys his age. It was only thanks to Ruben Ashford's generosity that he wasn't out there with the rest of the country, a hellish and miserable existence by any standard.

Lelouch had made a choice, that day. He would not be one of the cowards who refused to stand up against Britannia. Japan had fought, and bled, but they had made Britannia understand. For the very first time, the eyes of the Britannians had looked into the bowels of Hell in those two years of absolute resistance. No more could they expect to simply roll over a country and expect it's people to kneel before it's might.

Lelouch would follow the example of the brave warriors who had the courage to take up the sword against insurmountable odds. From that day onward, he had dedicated himself completely to his mission. Before that, after the death of everything and everyone he had ever held dear to him, he had been an empty, hollow shell that could only cry and sob at the fate hand had dealt him. After that day, there had been no more room for tears. For two years and nine days today, he had spent every single waking moment in preparation. Preparation for war.

There could be no other recourse. Words would not dissuade Britannia. Their insufferable arrogance made threats slide off of their oily skin, and their mighty military-industrial complex instilled in them a confidence that had allowed them to swallow half the world whole in the jaws of their empire. They seemed almost invincible even as their war with the 2nd most powerful force on the planet, the European Union, ground to a stalemate in the mountains between France and Spain. They were safe in the assumption that Britannia was undefeatable.

It was up to him to show the world how very wrong that assessment was. It was scheduled to take place exactly three days from now.

For the last year, he had been planning this one specific act. He had put all of his accumulated knowledge behind him, all of his physical condition and every ounce of creativity at his disposal was invested in this plan. He had spent the better part of the year assembling the tools he would need for the job, buying an expensive component here, going on weekend-long programming binges there, and even taking time out of training in order to keep to schedule. He had applied some of the most advanced scientific theories he knew of and somehow gotten them off the ground on his own, with literally no outside assistance or funding save for what Ruben Ashford doled out for him to live off of. He had made both great breakthroughs and experienced seemingly insurmountable setbacks, but it was all about to pay off. The next three days would be spent recuperating from his vigorous physical exercise in order to be at top performance on the big day, and to go over all of his plans one last time.

A dark smile spread around Lelouch's face as he closed his laptop right as the bell rang for fourth period and signaling the end of lunch. He had just put some finishing touches on his little pet project, and he couldn't wait to see the look on his brother's face at the great unveiling.

* * *

"Salutations and welcome to all loyal subjects of Britannia!" Clovis greeted over the loudspeakers. He looked up over the huge crowd massed up before him. Good Britannian citizens waiting with bated breath to hear his next speech. The running of Area 11 was a stressful job, but Clovis had always loved performances like this. It was easily his favorite chore, a pleasant distraction from the dreary day to day governorship.

"I, Clovis la Britannia, am pleased to announce the grand opening of the Tokyo Memorial Museum, a monument to the sacrifices of our brave soldiers who perished during the Second Great Pacific War. As many of you are no doubt aware, today marks the second anniversary of the war's official conclusion." He did a practiced flourish, directing the attention of the crowd to the magnificent piece of architecture behind him. It was designed in the classical Britannian style; perfectly symmetrical and with tastefully trimmed hedges. He was told that there was a maze in the back. Perhaps after he had greeted a few of his closer allies at the party he would lead the young Baroness Primrose into the maze himself. He had had his eye on that one for a while now, and a little wine did wonders to loosen the inhibitions. He continued with his droll speech.

"It is my sincere hope that all loyal subjects of Britannia- by both blood and honorary service- will come to appreciate the nobility and courage of the men who gave their lives to restore peace and order to this corner of the world and protected Britannian values both at home and abroad. With that…" Clovis never finished his statement.

While he had been concluding his speech, he noticed that the crowd had broken out in a low murmur. That was cause for concern already; his adoring public was always respectfully silent during his speeches. Indeed, they were often mesmerized by his charisma, hanging off of his every word.

But for some reason, their attention was pointed towards the patch of sky immediately above and behind him. He turned around to look at what all of them were pointing at with such wide eyes and astounded faces.

He was greeted with a disturbing sight. Up, miles in the air, was what seemed to be a small group of black dots silhouetted up against the cloudless and perfectly blue Sunday morning sky.

"Look! Up in the sky!"

"What the hell is that thing?"

"Do you see it…?"

Voices all around him asked the same question? What was that thing? Whatever they were, they were getting closer, and he discreetly called over his chief of security.

"Is this some stunt that you forgot to inform me of?" He asked cooly. He didn't like surprises that interrupted his plans, particularly if they cut off one of his famous speeches.

"Sir…I haven't been told of anything like this. I think we should get you inside." Clovis bristled with annoyance.

"Nonsense. The Elevens don't have the resources or the will to try anything. I'm sure it's just Quest Aerospace again…They've been pestering me with their new stealth jet designs, but I haven't gotten the chance to look at them." Actually he'd just brushed them off. Quest should know that they were barking up the wrong tree with him. Area 11 had been relatively peaceful ever since the Number Sedition and Containment Acts had been pushed through parliament, and he had no desire to spend another penny on military research. Area 11 had seen enough Britannian blood shed without tempting fate with even more military buildup. He had repeatedly assured the Chinese ambassador-in person- that they did not intend to use Area 11 as a staging area for military buildup. Indeed, the last thing they needed was a two front war with the Chinese Federation now that they had lost whatever momentum the army had built up in Spain. With their foothold in the Middle East already tenuous at best, such a move would be most ill-advised. "If they think that they-" He was cut off by a screaming woman as the head of the policeman standing next to her suddenly exploded and covered her in a thick viscera.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! "

The effect was instantaneous. One minute, the man had just been standing there, gawking at the strange flyers like everyone else. A moment later, his headless corpse fell to the ground and the woman fell over as well from the shock of suddenly finding herself covered in dead police officer.

"Code Red! Code Red! Clovis is compromised! I repeat, Prince Clovis has been compromised! " His head of security said, even as Clovis' eyes widened in stupefied horror. All around him, his security detail started to die off one by one. Right after the first policeman had been killed, his security personnel started to run around and swarm all over the place. As they tried to secure the area, each and every one of them had theirs heads summarily explode just as suddenly as the first officer. Clovis hid behind the podium in the opposite direction of the approaching assailants, hoping to avoid whatever weapon they were using to massacre his men.

As this had been a public appearance in the middle of the Tokyo Settlement, his security detail had consisted mostly of civilian police. Only a token regular military force had been deemed necessary, and he sincerely hoped that they would be enough to fight off this completely out of the blue attack. He cowered in fear and felt himself start to tremble as the chaos unfolded around him.

Civilians were running around like a swarm of furious hornets, trampling all over each other in their mad dash to escape. Every police officer was by now a headless corpse, and what few soldier's he had brought with him were dying like animals, gore and brain matter spraying across the once pristine Britannian boulevard.

"W-what madness is this?!" He asked himself.

There were two Sutherlands and eight Knightpolice custom Glasgows on site…if he could just make it to one of them, they could get him out of this…this _warzone_!

That was exactly what the place had become. Panicking civilians, lots of dead soldiers and blood splattered everywhere. No one was bothering with crowd control; what few soldiers were left alive had taken cover behind the large stone walls that made up part of the architecture- Clovis had wanted a decent amount of steps put in to the building so as to be suitably impressive. A high elevation had been chosen, so three graduating concrete rectangular foundations had been put in place. Steps had been carved out on one side that led to the building itself. This set up gave them the ability to use the graduated foundational walls as cover.

Unfortunately, due to Clovis' placement at the front of the building at the top of a high platform, they couldn't reach him without exposing themselves. Four of his noble soldier's had tried to do so already, and lost their lives for their trouble. He could see their headless bodies still crumpled on the steps in front of him, blood pooling on the fine Britannian masonry.

Clovis felt a twinge of hope when he saw four Knightmares incoming down the street. They were attempting to mount a rescue! He didn't know what the hell was being used to pin down his guards, but whatever it was only seemed to be effective on soft targets…

And just as he began to feel safe in the comfort that Britannia's mighty armor was on it's way to rescue him, his illusions were shattered.

Clovis la Britannia gaped in horrified fascination as the nearest Knightmare's cockpit block began to glow a bright orange. He winced as the metal began to warp and the Knightmare slump to a halt and hurdle into the nearby foundational wall at the base of the steps. It was obvious that the cockpit had been rapidly superheated…effectively turning the 10.7 million pound war machine into an enormous oven, baking the knight inside alive.

The remaining Knightmares halted their advance, but it was too late. The Knightpolice units cut and ran for the alleyways of the nearby downtown buildings, but they too simply crashed into their walls after their cockpits were rapidly superheated. The regular Britannian military guards put up a better show, desperately returning fire from static positions; whoever was attacking them had made it clear that their weapons were accurate enough to score perfect hits on full-retreat mode speeding Glasgows , so they knew that dodging was out of the question. Their only hope was to take out the enemy before they were baked inside their own steel coffins.

But it was no use at all. The Sutherlands began to take on the same orange glow as the metal of their cockpits started to reach the melting point. If that was the case, they had probably began the fusing process into the rest of the frame, making ejection impossible. It was over for them.

Clovis began to feel faint as he saw the last of the Knightmares fall. The nearest base was outside of Tokyo itself; a vestige from the invasion. It would take at least twenty minutes for them to reach his location by VTOL. The traffic jams undoubtedly caused by the panicking mob of Britannians rushing for safety had no doubt made getting here in any timely manner by ground impossible. If the six or seven remaining soldier's didn't somehow salvage the situation, he would be completely at utterly at his assailant's mercy.

Just as that terrifying prospect set in, he registered the sounds of afterburners coming from directly overhead. His attackers had arrived.

He saw something that he would never forget for the rest of his life. There, standing on a platform attached to a floating, spherical machine, was a man wearing a black cape with gold trim, and a distinctive, spiky black mask with an indigo circular visor.

Mirroring the mask was the enormous floating machine he stood upon. It was, essentially, a massive version of the mask the man wore, with what appeared to be jet engines sprouting from the back in the space the man's neck occupied on his own mask. The black monstrosity he stood on was the size of a small car…and all around it there were smaller mask-shaped spheres of similar design but only about the size of a beach ball.

"MUUUAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" A booming voice echoed thunderously from the beneath the terrifying mask.

"I! Am! Zero!" He shouted out with a flourish of both arms and flip of his cape, revealing a tight royal purple suit beneath his black cape. It was a combination of Victorian fashion with the practical battlesuit design favored by many Knightmare pilots…

"Your soldiers lay dead and decapitated at my feet! Your armor-your 'superior' Britannian technology-has been _vanquished_! _Tremble_ at my _Power_!" He reached to the twin holsters at his hips and withdrew two sidearms that he wielded in both hands. With deafening chattering and bright flashes they sprayed the cover his guards had hidden behind with bullets and chipped away at the polished marble overlays. Three of them tried to return fire, but almost immediately the smaller floating masks turned to face them. It was as if some invisible force ignited the Britannian soldier's as limbs, weapons, and two more heads all exploded around the steps. The soldier whose weapon had been targeted screamed in pain as the magazine in his P90 exploded in his hands, sending shards of tiny shrapnel into his unarmored arms.

Clovis was stupefied as he fell to the ground once more. He had turned to face his assailant only to see a huge, imposing man dressed in a garish costume standing atop some kind of floating energy weapon and brandishing machine pistols. He had asked himself before, and felt the need to repeat the question. _What madness is this?!_

The remaining two soldiers tried to rush to the podium in a suicide strike in hopes of taking out the masked madman. It was their final mistake.

They rushed up the steps in a mad dash…straight into the path of the huge, behemoth floating mask that this 'Zero' was standing upon in a platform mounted on the back. Now that he got a better look at it, there was a sleek metallic steering bar that extended from the scaled spikes at the top of the machine, as well as what appeared to be a machinegun mounted in front of the bars. The red buttons mounted on the angled tips of the bars suggested that it doubled as a turret.

Clovis extended his hand over his shoulder to his guards in the vain hope of rescue from this psychopath, but they never reached more than halfway up the steps. The huge floating mask was no more than three meters above him, and the indigo faceplate stared defiantly at his soldier's last ditch effort to take out the machine's master.

The soldier's stopped suddenly, though, as if they had hit an invisible barrier mid-dash, and began to writhe in agony where they stood. It was long before their fatigues simply _caught on fire_, and then the polymer composite armor began to _melt_ into them. Clovis listened to their tortured cries in despair as they began to shrink into the ground as they simply liquefied before his eyes. In just a few moments they had melted down into a pile of blackish goo as Clovis looked on helplessly. "N-no…" He whispered in despair. He was now alone with a malevolent masked man who had just brutally massacred his entire security detail with fantastical weaponry.

"Clovis la Britannia! At last we meet!" His voice pierced through the eerily silent boulevard. The civilians had long since fled, and everyone else was dead but them. It was oddly peaceful, as the crisp Sunday air offered no audible wind, and the sky was still perfectly devoid of clouds.

"W-who are you?! What do you want from me?!" Clovis vainly shielded himself by placing his slender arms between his face and the masked terrorist.

"I hope you enjoyed my performance, _your highness…_" he drawled with a sarcastically deep bow. "I apologize for disrupting your quaint little ceremony, but I'm afraid we have much more pressing matters to attend to. Oh yes…" He descended from his platform with a high jump and a midair flip that would have impressed the most masterful acrobats in Britannia. "There's a score to settle between you and me." He intoned menacingly as he drew his cape over himself and began to casually waltz up to the cowering Clovis.

"P-please…I'll give you anything you want! Is it money?" No, that was absurd. The idea that someone with access to the kind of technology this man had at his disposal wouldn't be after something so _pedestrian_. "Release of political prisoners…?" He ventured again. It was a fair guess, with the huge droves of Elevens they had rounded up over the years languishing in concentration camps set up all over area Eleven. "Please…if you only…please, don't kill me!" He begged pathetically in abject terror.

"HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" The terrorist stopped for a moment, halting his advance. "_Kill_ you? Oh no, I'm afraid you won't be getting off so easily for all of your crimes, Clovis. No, I have something else entirely in mind for you…"

Clovis fainted at that point. The last thing he heard was the mad laughter in the terrorist's flanging voice as his hands closed in on him, and a final, ominous warning. "Looks like you're in check, _your highness…_"


	2. Chapter 2 : Remember Remember

**A/N Reviews;**

**Lunanite : I'd say moral bankruptcy and an unhealthy obsession with revenge against a whole nation state are pretty serious flaws.**

* * *

It was a scene of carnage. The office buildings nearby had escaped mostly untouched, but the main street was smoldering ruin. Half-melted Knightmares had crashed through a few of the relatively thin brick walls that composed a nearby print shop and a computer store. The symmetrical stone steps leading up to the Pacific War memorial were another matter altogether.

A police line had been set up, with yellow tape and stone-faced officers standing guard over the scene. Bloodstains still littered the ground, often corresponding with nearby tape outlines in the shapes of humans. Nineteen black synthetic leather bags were lined up in a neat little row over to the side of the street.

A man stood facing the camera and holding a microphone up to his face. He wore a dark gray suit over a mauve shirt and purple tie. He had a solemn expression plastered over his face even as his coverage of the incident began.

"This is Fred Jones with AENN, your only source for reliable, on the scene coverage of breaking news. As you can see-" He gestured to the crime scene behind him, earning glares from the MP units that had set up. Five purple and maroon Sutherlands stood guard over the site. Others were patrolling the side streets or performing a sweep of the main Boulevard. They would be coming and going out of the screen for the entirety of the broadcast, a constant reminder that the military was still in control. "-The grand opening of the Pacific War Memorial hosted by Prince Clovis will was brutally cut short earlier today when an unknown perpetrator attacked during the middle of the ceremony!" He shouted with emphasis and indignation that anyone would _dare_ to attack a sacred service to Britannia's fallen soldiers.

"Approximately 20 members of our armed forces tragically lost their lives in what can only be described as an unprovoked and cowardly surprise attack by terrorists intending to disrupt the ceremony. As you can see, the scene speaks for itself…" He gestured again to the memorial steps, covered in blood and tape outlines as the screen panned in that direction and then back to him. "So far, reports on the terrorists behind this incident are disturbingly scarce. Preliminary statements taken from attendees of the grand opening this morning have only produced three resolutely common facts. One, the savage and immediate murder of the policemen providing security for the event. Two, the approach of a number of unidentified flying objects from the skies behind the building immediately preceding the attack. And three, the complete and utter annihilation of the Knightpolice and even military Knightmare Corps! Whatever faction has attacked Viceroy Prince Clovis' ceremony was well-equipped and organized, casting serious doubts on General Aleister's claims that Area 11 was among the most stable and safe of Britannia's conquered territory after the implementation of the controversial Proactive Internment Act. Prince Clovis, an ardent supporter of General Aleister's policies, was unavailable for comment-"

-Click

The screen turned black instantly as a gloved hand set down the remote.

"Here that, _your highness_, you're unavailable for comment." Lelouch taunted his brother in a mocking and sarcastic digitally amplified voice. He turned to face his prisoner as the they cowered and clung to their bonds as if they might protect him for the man in front of him.

Clovis was currently bound to an old and splintery wooden armchair with a four sets of handcuffs attached to his wrists and ankles around the chair's legs and armrests. "I suppose Aleister didn't feel like admitting that your whereabouts were still unknown. Understandable, given his obviously inaccurate statements as to the effectiveness of his little prison camp system." He continued. He was laying it on a little thick, but it was a necessary part of his plan. Much as he didn't want to admit it, Clovis was a crucial part of that plan. The success of his future operations depended on the assumption that the terrified prince would continue on as viceroy after this little stunt reached it's conclusion.

Oh, he hadn't forgiven Clovis for his sins, of course. Not at all. Clovis, while not the driving force behind the 'Proactive Internment Act', was more than involved enough to consider him complicit. More to the point, Clovis was through and through a Britannian prince. A propagator of Britannian oppression and a the ultimate symbol of Britannia's delusional superiority complex; a monarch with the power of life and death of countless subjects for no other reason than their birthright.

Still, it was unlikely that Clovis was the man behind the assassination of Empress Marianne. If Lelouch had thought that he'd had anything to do with _that_, Clovis would not be nearly so comfortable right now. Or alive, for that matter. Fortunately for the viceroy, there was simply no basis to place the blame on Clovis.

For one thing, Clovis and Lelouch had been…friends, as children. The thought disgusted him now, but back then Clovis had been one of the few siblings of similar age to himself. It made sense that they would befriend one another, sociologically. It seemed unlikely that Clovis would have the empress killed on such a petty matter as her social birthrank. Also, Clovis had clearly degraded into a sniveling, effeminate coward in the last five years. He couldn't picture the cretin before him organizing and planning out an assassination of the emperor's wife; such an action would require, at the very least, a _shred_ of courage.

"You're probably wondering what it is I want with you, your highness." he turned to face him directly. he hadn't taken off his mask at any point when he transported Clovis to his hideout, and had taken the precaution of blindfolding Clovis. Not only did it protect the location of my hideout, but it also served as a reminder to him that he was at a disadvantage with him. Pyschology was one of the more useful subjects that he had devoted time to studying, so interrogation and persuasion weren't too far out of his league so long as he was careful.

"Y-you're some kind of t-terrorist…aren't you?" Clovis stammered. He had never been particularly brave as a child, and it would appear that emerging into adulthood in a lath of luxury had done little for his mettle.

Lelouch grinned unpleasantly, not that Clovis could see it. "Yes. I suppose I am, under the literal definition of the term, at least." Terror was merely a tool that an intelligent person, such as himself, used to benefit themselves. "And that brings us to our next order of business…" he continued.

In front of Clovis, he had set up one of the cameras from my workshop at home. It was slightly modified with my own electrical work to wire it up better with modern equipment. Lelouch was by no means an AV specialist, but he was far and away more adept at it than the typical cinematic arts student.

he looked into the camera and waited for the red 'record' dot and letters in the upper right to light up. Good. Everything was in proper working order. Now to prepare his co-star.

He reached up and removed the dark canvas blindfold from Clovis' eyes. "Ugh!" The man flinched in surprise and terror at suddenly having his sight restored to him, much to Lelouch's displeasure. He could think of someone else who would've been overjoyed at such a boon.

Clovis' eyes were wide with anxiety at his predicament. He looked around from left to right frantically, searching for anything that could be of aid to him. Searching for a way out. Lelouch smirked at his brother's vain struggle. His hideout wasn't hidden as well as it might be, due to lack of any liquid resources at his disposal. Still, it's location was ideal for avoiding any search parties that might have been dispatched to find Clovis or himself.

The Shinjuku Ruins.

Shinjuku was, basically, an empty wasteland where man and beast alike feared to tread. Bombed out and collapsing skyscrapers teetered on cracked foundations, and most of the roads had been destroyed due to either the rigors of war or lack of maintenance. Debris littered the ground and broken down structures collapsed in on themselves to the ground. The once pristine and technologically advanced monorail system had it's supporting columns destroyed in several places, by the looks of it by a Britannian Abrams MBT.

The result was the whole thing breaking down under it's own weight and plummeting to the earth, caving in already weakened buildings and littering the streets with concrete fragments.

Lelouch had chosen to make this place his base of operations for the time being. Ashford was too much of a security risk, as his control over the guest house was somewhat tenuous. Anyone could enter unannounced, and it would be…problematic, for one of the students to stumble upon some of the things that he kept at his hideout.

Now that Clovis was free to look around, he spotted one of his projects that he had recently been well-acquainted with.

The Drones. Flying weapons platforms he had spent the majority of this year finishing up the construction of and fine tuning.

The idea had actually come to him over the course of the first summer he had spent at the Ashfords. He had, of course, already begun the first steps on his path to vengeance against the Emperor and all of his subjects and lackeys and minions. The problem that presented itself at that point was, of course, that he had no followers of his own.

He had long since learned that people were often unreliable, self-serving creatures. There were predictable ones, of course, but they were often incompetent or unimaginative. A stray thought had crossed his mind at that moment.

Obviously, at this delicate stage in his plans, he could not afford to rely on uncontrolled factors such as the support of human beings. He had no safety nets, no fall back plans should some unforeseen factor derail any of his plans. He could not afford to make mistakes at this juncture. But he still needed subordinates; minions, to carry out his will without his own physical presence or to support him in the field, as his creations had done yesterday.

Robotics, that was the key. That was the thought he had embraced that summer, and he had worked tirelessly with it for the ensuing years. Unflinchingly loyal, physically imposing subordinates that would only ever obey his commands and do nothing else to jeopardize them. He could program them as he liked, instilling whatever actions he wanted into their computers. Gathering information from them would be as simple as installing recording devices into their synthetic eyes and audio receptors. Their bodies could be molded into whatever form he needed, and back again, limited only by his own abilities rather than theirs.

In short, perfection.

It had been a daunting task, of course. The field of robotics had not advanced significantly in over twenty years. Britannia, the leading superpower nation with all of the funding and prestige, had phased out UAVs and the like from their military program in favor of the Knightmare Frame, despite serving dissimilar purposes.

Indeed, the ridiculous humanoid machines had completely dominated Britannia's research and development budget for virtually their entire existence. It was always about the next big development in Knightmare Frames and the like. Britannia was so enamored with their overpriced walking tanks that they didn't stop to consider other, more innovative paths that military technology could take.

Lelouch did not suffer from any such delusion. His drones were proof of that.

The fruits of nearly two years of labor hung proudly before him, as each of his drones were currently suspended by chains from the ceiling, except for the largest one.

It was his personal 'command' drone, which had a platform mounted on the back of it where he could either stand or sit in a steel swiveling chair he had welded to the platform. It included a control console that he could use to manually pilot the drone, as well as issuing real-time orders to the fleet of smaller drones that accompanied it.

All of his drones were covered in an armored chassis fashioned into the shape of his mask. The reasoning was that, according to his studies, a singular, identifiable and distinctive threat was more intimidating than a mysterious, unknowable one. At least on the massive scale that he planned on operating on. Indeed, the nature of his weaponry left little room for subtlety in any case.

He had forged the chasses from steel he had salvaged from the destroyed cars and tanks left to rust in the Shinjuku ruins. He had found a (relatively) intact parking garage, and many of the cars were still in good condition. Tanks were much harder to find, and he had only managed to salvage the armor of one. Even that was in relatively poor condition- it was riddled with bullet holes and had a gaping crevice punched through it from where a Glasgow had grazed it with an Anti-Material Cannon. The reactive armor had saved it from being completely gutted, but it would never be operational again. Luckily, Lelouch was able to melt down some of the armor for it's metal. From that, it was simple enough to shape it into the chassis with a few specialized tools he had fashioned for the task.

The chassis was just the armored exterior. The insides of the drones were, essentially, a heavily modified Factsphere system and a custom built computer. He had been able to make the computers himself using components from the old desktops at Ashford, car radios, cell phones, and shoplifted parts from RadioShack.

The Factspheres had been much harder to come by. Oh, he could access the schematics easily enough. Reuben had been integral in the design of the system, after all, as the Ashford Foundation had been the group to engineer the first and second generation of Knightmare Frames. Unfortunately, Factspheres were only available as a package in conjunction with Knightmares- and those were commercial grade models with no targeting software built in. No, only military grade hardware would serve his purposes. The problem was that his allowance would simply not cover the cost of black-market Glasgows and the components needed to manufacture his own Factspheres were unavailable commercially. He could theoretically design his own system, but going down that route would be extremely time consuming. It would have set back his schedule by at least another year to finish designing and constructing a similar device, and that was just the prototype.

So, his only option had been to somehow get his hands on some severed Glasgow heads. A tall order, even for someone as resourceful as himself. Stealing them from the military was out of the question, as Knightmares were guarded even more jealously than Britannia's other vehicles. Each Knightmare was parked in a secure hangar when not in use, and each required a special 11-digit code to activate. Without it, it would take hours to hack through the top-of-the-line security software every Knightmare packed. It was far too huge of a gamble to assume that they would be left alone for that long.

In the end, he'd ended up having to scavenge through Shinjuku for the Factspheres. Japan had put up a hell of a fight before Britannia managed to overwhelm them with a constant naval blockade and numberless troops pouring in from all over the empire. The invasion had stalled when they met unexpected resistance, and General Bartley's forces had been bogged down for quite some time before the Britannians tired of his incompetence. From what Lelouch understood, the man had been put in front of a firing squad after having his noble titles revoked and was summarily replaced and forgotten about by General Vance Aleister. However, due to Bartley's mismanagement, many Glasgows were still unaccounted for by Britannian clean-up teams, particularly in the ghettos and ruins.

Finders keepers, as the saying went. In any case, Lelouch had managed to gather five Factspheres so far. On their own, they were worthless to his endeavors. However, with his modifications and supplementary inventions, they were quite useful.

Yesterday had been their unofficial field test. He had of course tested their hover engines before; working out the kinks out of _that_ had nearly lost him one of his precious Factspheres… But they had worked liked a charm.

The Factspheres were in fact the main weapon of the Drones. The original device released a radar pulse from the frontal bulb after an armored shell lifted up. This gave the pilot of the Knightmare valuable supplementary information such as thermal imaging and updated IFF imaging overlay data. Lelouch's modifications changed the purpose of the Factsphere somewhat. Or, rather, it expanded upon it. The Factspheres hidden behind the polarized visor of the mask-shaped chasses still provided the supplementary visual data, but it now included an 'offensive mode', which required the bulb lens to be mechanically shifted for the weaponized version. This simply changed the type of wave that the Factsphere bulb produced; instead of a radar pulse, it now emitted microwaves. The polarizing lenses that could be seen as the faceplate on his mask actually functioned to _magnify_ the microwaves, creating an even deadlier effect. Lelouch had needed to line the insides of the chasses with lead and obtain a significantly larger superconductor in order to get the pseudo-microwave emitter to produce a high enough yield to get the results he wanted, but it had been worth it. The superheated Knightmare cockpits had been impressive, to say the least.

Energy fillers, unlike Factspheres, were easier to come by in the commercial market. He still couldn't afford them on his budget, but theft had been significantly less risky. A nobleman's fancy sakuradite-powered car was a lot less likely to be stopped than a Glasgow at a checkpoint.

The hover system had been the easiest to come up with. He had more or less just miniaturized a VTOL system and put the engines on tracks at the back of the drone. They could then shift in whatever direction was necessary while constantly generating lift. The blades had to be made of specially treated titanium, coated in a chemical layer of his own creation to heighten the melting point of the rotating blades considerably. This allowed for them to be spun at an otherwise unthinkable rate, creating an extremely maneuverable and versatile hover drone.

He was quite proud of his work on the drones. Aside from the microwave emitters, each drone carried two simple missiles that he had made from interior lead-lined steel cylinders with cones on the end and some aerodynamic fins. The missiles were filled with whatever explosives Lelouch could put together and a pressure sensitive detonator at the end. It wouldn't activate until the missile had already been launched by the drone, as a safety feature. Each drone had two missiles each, launched from hidden chambers on the spiky side fins.

His command drone had a more comprehensive armament. In addition to a larger-scaled microwave emitter, it had ten improvised missiles and a light machinegun turret mounted in front of his swiveling command chair. It had two curved steel plates on either side of the turret that protected him from incoming frontal small arms fire, cannibalized from an actual static defense turret he had scavenged the components for from multiple wrecked tanks.

Altogether, his little fleet cut an intimidating sight, even in his modest, workshop-esque Shinjuku hideout. Clovis paled as he saw them up close for the second time, and was no doubt remembering the devastation they had wrought upon his security detail.

"A simple question." Lelouch continued and grabbed Clovis' attention once more. Another reason he had designed the drones' chasses in the shape of his mask; they were invariably and unassailably associated with himself, and thus any terror or awe felt towards his creations would transfer to him. His mask had already become a symbol of death and terror in the mind of the older prince, and he thus commanded the man's undivided attention. "Do you know the significance of this Tuesday?"

Clovis looked confused for a moment, even as he sweated in his finely tailored purple and white garment. "T-Tuesday…? Wh-what about it?"

_Tsk tsk_, thought Lelouch. His brother was normally smarter than this, but he supposed the anxiety of being held captive by a terrorist was not a novelty he was particularly familiar with in his life of power and control. "The fifth of November, your highness. Surely you know." Realization dawned on Clovis' face, and he grew pale as his blue eyes widened as far as ever before.

"Guy Fawkes Night…" He breathed. Of course, celebration of that particular holiday had been banned by royal decree in 1741. Something or other about dissidence and sedition. Guy Fawkes' actual religious motivations had very little to do with the current political climate, or even his own purposes, but Lelouch liked the imagery of rebellion that Fawkes inspired. Particularly, home-grown Britannian rebellion. If it was going to be obvious to everyone that he was not an Eleven, he may as well play up his own angle for all it was worth. "You can't be serious…" Clovis said disbelievingly. The man had probably believed him to be an Eleven, possibly funded by either the EU or China.

"Deadly." I deadpanned.

"Y-you're a Britannian? B-but But _why?_" Clovis, it seemed, was genuinely confused.

"…Why? _Why?_ Really, Clovis? You _don't know why? _You can't think, with that infantile, foppish, inbred mind of yours _why_ anyone in Britannia could _possibly_ disagree with your government's administration? Allow me to pose a question of my own to you then, _your highness_. If there exists no possible reasons for dissent and rebellion among your own people, why all of the police state controls and media censorship? Why does the government watch every move the people make? Why have you illegalized trade unions? Why do you send men with guns to people's houses in the night if they express opinions on the television that deviate from accepted parameters in your little secret board meetings with the department of information? I could list off their crimes against the Britannian people by the century, but that's not really the point of this conversation. I'll answer my own question, not yours. My question was why you did all of those rather nasty things to your own people, let alone what you do to the rightful owners of lands that you steal from actually legitimate governments. The answer is because you are _afraid_, your highness. You and your whole little inbred family of sadistic man-children are mind-bogglingly terrified of anyone _ever _seriously asking themselves another question; What, exactly, makes the royalty better than any other bloke just like us? That is the question you're afraid of people asking seriously. Oh, sure, you have that whole cock and bull story of how you're supermen. Bred for fighting and born geniuses an all that. You know what I think about that?" Clovis shook his head slowly. The royal obviously didn't like where this conversation was headed. His gaping-mouthed horror had been replaced with a creeping, pale dread. Even so, his jaw was locked with taught lips, indicating his barely restrained anger. How dare this commoner upstart criticize _my_ rule, he must be thinking. "Well…" Lelounch went on. He gripped Clovis' shoulder with a gloved hand in a vice grip, intentionally making him uncomfortable and invading his personal space.

"Your current situation should be rather indicative as to my opinion on that particular question, _your highness_." A not so subtle reminder of his captive's predicament, and a sarcastic jibe at his superiority complex to put the icing on the cake.

"_What do you want from me?!_" Clovis half snapped, half begged. Neither of which types of statements was really appropriate for the situation, but Lelouch decided against being a grammar-Britannian. His little speech had done little to move his plans along, but he had assigned a certain number of minutes to taunting Clovis and was loathe to waste them.

"Ah yes, the straight to the point. Quite unusual for a Britannian aristocrat. Usually you lot bandy words like a gang of teenaged girls gossiping about their favorite Knight of the Round. In any case, you'll be pleased to hear that your role in my plans is actually quite small." He saw a glimmer of hope begin to make it's home in Clovis' eyes.

"What is it, then?" He asked, trying not to sound too eager. Clovis was always rather transparent to Lelouch, if not in general.

"It's simple. So long as General Aleister grants my very reasonable request, you'll be dropped off back at your home, unharmed. If not, well…" he dragged it out, and then his voice took on a slower, more deliberately ominous tone. "You will be required to participate in an altogether different sort of message to Britannia…" If that wasn't forboding enough to crush that tiny twinge of hope Clovis had felt, Lelouch didn't know what was.

On that unpleasant note, Lelouch departed from Clovis' immediate presence without replacing his blindfold. He instead returned shortly while bearing a camera tripod.

"Smile for the camera, _your highness._"

* * *

**Monday, November the Fourth, 2015 a.t.b.**

"General! General Aleister!" Called out Jonas Hartley, a mid-ranked adjutant. No relation to the now ousted and disgraced General Aspirus. He had just burst through the automatic doors and into the war room unannounced, so he would most likely be permanently demoted if this wasn't suitably important.

General Aleister massaged his temples at the sound of Hartley's voice. If there was one thing he had learned in the last two days as acting governor of Area 11, it was that Hartley's voice rarely bore good news. Indeed, the man would almost be better suited to a life as a black raven than a man, or so snide conversations in the cafeteria would have you believe.

"What is it this time, Hartley? In case you hadn't noticed, we're in the middle of a very important meeting!" Sneered Colonel Remington. That, in Aleister's opinion, was a lie. This was the third such meeting they had organized, ostensibly to determine the best course of action over the 'Viceroy Situation'.

"Enough. Let the boy say whatever it is he needs to tell us. Continue." He gestured towards Hartley.

Hartley displayed none of the gratefulness he would have normally shown when Aleister cut him a break, instead keeping a grim and alarmed visage. He bowed low as he approached Aleister at the head of the table, and held out what looked like a DVD. "Sir, the Viceroy's office received this in a parcel this morning. It's…urgent." Aleister raised an eyebrow and examined the disk. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary…and then he turned it over. His eyes widened and he barely restrained a surprised choke.

Taped to the back of the disk was a photograph of Prince Clovis! He was handcuffed to a chair and blindfoled, and he looked worse for wear. His once fine purple garment was torn and dirty, stained with sweat. Prince Clovis looked exceptionally pale, and his face was actually _bruised_! There would be hell to pay for whoever was behind this! "Explain." He said shortly, leveling his face into a glare.

Hartley, to his credit, answered concisely and with a calm demeanor that did nothing to detract from his obvious alarm. It was only thanks to his rigorous military training and personal discipline that he was keeping it cool. "At approximately O' nine hundred this morning, a courier delivered a sealed cardboard box with no return address to the front desk of the Tokyo Settlement City Hall, with a paper note taped on the top of the box saying that it was to be delivered to whomever was currently in charge of Area 11. The note was composed of magazine cutout letters, and the secretary manning the desk almost threw it away until a guard had the sense to stop her. Realizing that it might have something to do with the Viceroy's…disappearance…." Hartley had hesitated for a moment. Aleister would have chuckled at that any other time.

The Viceroy's abduction had been hushed up by the OSI, but preliminary reports of the incident had already been released by firsthand accounts. It had been impossible to force a retraction without stepping on the toes of half a dozen media moguls who had decided to get in on the action. Most of them had titles, too, so Aleister had wisely decided not to make too big a deal of it. It appeared that his judgement had been correct.

"So he sent it with Sir Loxley, one of the Knights assigned to guard the palace, to the G-1, sir. I was the man on call, so I received it personally. I thought it best to deliver it to you immediately, sir."

Aleister nodded grimly. "Good work, soldier. Head down to the barracks and put the men on secondary alert." Hartley saluted. "Something tells me they might see some action sooner than I'd anticipated…"

The soldiers currently garrisoned in Area 11 were, generally, not of the highest caliber. The initial invasion had gone essentially as anticipated, but the stiff and unexpected resistance by the Elevens had caught Aspirus off guard. Bartley Aspirus was hardly command material in the first place, in Aleister's opinion. The only reason he had been put in charge of the invasion in the first place was because Cornelia was still tied up in the Gulf Conflict and Aspirus had family connections.

It had always been presumed by the upper echelons at command that Britannia's superior numbers and the technological advantage given by Knigtmares as well as air superiority would win the war for them, no matter how incompetent the general in charge was.

Aleister shook his head at the naivete. He had always believed that leaving a fat buffoon like Aspirus in command of such an important operation was a huge blunder on their part, but his vindication rang hollow when they got the first reports of their casualty figures after the initial landing.

All told, over 90,000 Britannian military personnel had had lost their lives in order to safeguard Britannia's access to these godforsaken islands and their pink rocks. Over a million wounded, and billions of pounds lost in Glasgows, Tanks, Jets, and Helicopters. Thanks to the new focus on developing more powerful and numerous Knightmares, many of the conventional armor such as tanks or APCs lost in the invasion had yet to be replaced. Chief General Cornelia's predilection towards Knightmares did nothing to speed it along, so while the Area 11 Garrison had plenty of Glasgows, virtually their entire army was overspecialized with an anti-armor and air role. Aleister found that to be unacceptable, of course, for the simple reason that that war had already been won. All they had to worry about now were terrorists and guerilla fighters, potentially. Knightmares were simply overkill for that sort of warfare.

For one thing, while Knightmares were much lauded for their versatility, Aleister had his doubts. They served a variety of combat purposes, true, but it was his personal belief that they should not rely solely on any single machine to put an entire war effort on it's back. As the old saying went, you shouldn't put all of your eggs in one basket.

Tanks, for one thing, had no vulnerable leg joints to target. Knightmares were faster due to their shape and their landspinners despite being almost as heavy, but that also meant that they had significantly more weak points to target. Not only that, but they would be glaringly obvious, as they were shared with the human body. The head, joints, and of course the cockpit/chest cavity. This was normally compensated for by the Knightmare's speed, which made it difficult for tanks or missiles to target accurately unless they were remote controlled.

This advantage was also voided by the current situation. A terrorist would hardly alert a patrol to his presence before firing at the leg joints with a bazooka or something, and a legless Glasgow was a pitiful opponent indeed, even for the inferior Eleven military. Fortunately, Aleister had nipped the terrorist problem in the bud when he pushed through the Proactive Internment Act. They were popularly referred to as "Number Control Laws", and some of the aristocrats made noises of implementing them in other areas. Unfortunately, that was not feasible, despite it's possible necessity. The only reason he had gotten away with it past all of the liberals and media watchdogs was because of how brutal and bloody the invasion had been. It had shocked Britannia how hard it had been to take three tiny islands off the coast of China, especially after several high-ranking military officials had guaranteed a quick and decisive Britannian victory.

A year later, those same men had needed to save face _somehow. _That was when Aleister had made his move. He proposed the Proactive Internment Act, to imprison all male Elevens of military age or background, including the majority of government employees. Genbu Kururugi himself had been spared the noose to keep the Elevens docile. If he'd had the man killed as he so desired for costing so many Britannian lives with that spiteful total resistance declaration of his, he'd have been dealing with riots for months. Instead, he let the man live in a semi-comfortable cell in the most secure prison camp in Area 11, who some droll Knight or other dubbed _Little Wallabout_. Over fifty Glasgows were stationed there, all outfitted with their standard military loadout of Knightmare Rifles and Slash Harkens.

Slash Harkens did nothing that man-portable cable guns couldn't accomplish just as easily, or even mounted on tanks. VTOL aircraft were nowadays relegated to a support role, ferrying troops and equipment into combat. There was some talk of using them to start carrying Knightmares back in R&D, but that wouldn't really be addressing the problem. In addition to all of the above points, many of the anti-armor capabilities of the Glasgows were being removed as well. Carrying anti-armor linear cannons on the arms had become something of a hassle in the tight confines of the settlements, and ammunition was scarce due to the lack of necessity for anti-armor weaponry in Area 11. There were no tanks left to fight, and much of Britannia's industrial capacity was tied up in several other ongoing wars. It was truly fortunate that the situation with China was more or less stable after their show of force in Area 11, because the truth was that the Garrison was woefully unprepared for an invasion. Their only saving grace was that the navy had remained more or less untouched by the war due to their quick knock-out of the Elevens' naval forces with a combined sea and air surprise attack.

Unfortunately, Aleister was a realist, and accordingly realized that Knightmares wouldn't be phased out of use anytime soon despite their questionable applicability in guerilla-style warfare. The reasons for this were mostly sociopolitical.

Britannia had a relatively large sub-class of the sons of minor nobles and wealthy commoners, both of which felt entitled to better positions and benefits that the lesser footmen. The problem was that they couldn't simply give them all minor officer positions as was traditionally done; their military would quickly become ridiculously top-heavy, to the point that they would have almost half as many officers as foot soldiers. Having a sergeant-or-above for every two privates was simply not practical. As the wealth of the average Britannian increased to astronomical heights due to the prosperity brought on by their military conquests, so too did their expectations for preferential treatment in the military. They were too numerous and influential to simply deny them, so the solution was of course Knighthood.

A Knighthood was an unlanded and non-hereditary noble title given to the Devicers who manned a Knightmare. This provided plenty of capable pilots once they finished the training program at one of the many prestigious military academies attended by the second or third sons of noblemen and wealthy commoners who would otherwise not inherit any substantial amount from their families. This way, they were satisfied with an acceptably suitable role in the armed forces and many more future prospects should they distinguish themselves. It served that purpose as well as providing Cornelia with plenty of capable pilots for her new favorite toys, but of course Aleister would never make that opinion known out loud, as it would highly imprudent and doubtlessly stunt his prospects for advancement. He didn't reach the rank of General despite only being a Baron himself without being political.

All of this, though, had him worried more than it probably should have. They knew next to nothing about the perpetrator behind the Prince's abduction, and this had Aleister _scared_. If a the _Third Prince of Britannia_ died on his watch, he was finished, one way or the other. On one hand, he was the man who had let a Prince be _kidnapped_ and _murdered_ right under his nose. He could blame it on terrorists, sure, but his Proactive Internment Act would bite him in the ass on that one. He had promised the people of Britannia that Area 11 was thanks to his controversial policies and that the ends justified the means; they would _crucify _him for this if he failed to return the Prince unharmed. As it is now, he was just running damage control. The homeland had already been notified by him, of course, but because they botched the handling of the media, even the general public was quite aware that something was going down in Area 11. He would have to pin this on either the EU or an external terrorist threat if he wanted to spin this in his favor. Antagonizing China at this point would be a decidedly bad idea. No amount of giant robots would save them if they decided to pick a fight with both of the world's other superpowers while they were still engaged with smaller wars and barely hanging onto Area 3 by the skin of their teeth.

So with some trepidation he inserted the DVD into the disk reader underneath the LCD screen mounted on the wall to the side of the table furthest from the door. He stood back and joined his general staff as they waited and observed.

For a moment-nothing happened. Just a black screen. And then an image appeared.

It was Prince Clovis! Cuffed to the same chair in the picture! But…another image was superimposed over Clovis' face…It was a cartoonish rendition of a man with a wide smile and handlebar moustache with a thin beard and rosy cheeks. The eyebrows were in the typical 'angry' position, but the neutal black oval-shaped holes showed Clovis' blue orbs beneath them and the wide jovial smile confused the expression somewhat. The 'skin' of the face was a pale, light yellow.

"What the hell is that supposed to be?" Colonel Remington whispered. Colonels Franklin and Holloway echoed similar inquiries until Aleister shushed them, and the other dozen or so occupants of the table kept their peace in favor of simply watching the video. Aleister implored the chatty cathies to do so as well.

"Hello, and Salutations, most esteemed Generals and Command Staff of the Britannian Imperial Army. I believe that introductions are in order." The voice that emanated from the TV's speakers was not Clovis'. It had a harsh echo to it, like whoever was talking was wearing a pail over their head. But that voice! It was harsh, decisive, and cutting. It had a sharpness to it that Clovis lacked even at his orneriest. It thundered and boomed, rather than drawling out whimsically like Clovis tended to.

"My name is Zero. I am the one who kidnapped Third Prince Clovis last Sunday morning. Sufficient proof has been supplied to you of this fact in the photograph included with the DVD, and this video is proof that his highness may still count himself among the living." Aleister scrutinized the video thoroughly, and could indeed see deep rising and falling of Clovis' chest through his thin, robe-like shirt. The rest of the command staff watched and listened in morbid fascination, as did Aleister. If the kidnapper had intended to just kill Clovis and be done with it, and only disposed of Clovis' body to avoid the wrath of the Empire, he would be dead already. The only reason to kidnap a Prince and keep him alive was because you wanted something _from_ the Empire. Aleister would play ball, for now. His career depended on it. He didn't let it show, but he was actually rather relieved.

This man, whoever he was, was clearly a Britannian. The echo may have partially disguised his voice, but his vocabulary and smooth aristocratic diction spoke of an educated, probably wealthy Britannian male, probably late twenties to early thirties. The advanced experimental weaponry they'd he'd reportedly used by some of the eyewitness civilians also supported that theory.

If Aleister played his cards right, he might be able to not only rescue Prince Clovis, but also marginalize the influence the business interests in Area 11 who'd been pressuring him for more cheap labor for the Sakuradie mines. He obviously wouldn't turn over such an important industry to potential Eleven terrorists or bitter old enemy soldiers, so the corporations had been forced to make due with women and child laborers, often malnourished and relatively few in number. Full-blooded Britannians refused to do such demeaning manual labor, so the they had been forced to start scraping the bottom of the barrel for numbers. Aleister had flatly refused their pleas to make use of the untapped font prison camp labor, but Aleister had flatly refused. Perhaps now they were playing hardball…

But this?! To kidnap the _Third Prince of Britannia?! _It boggled the mind to think that they would go so far for the promise of material wealth and fleeting profits, particularly when the OSI arrived. They were most likely already on board the first plane out of their headquarters in Pendragon and on their way to resolve this mess…

If he solved it before they got here, he could earn unparalled prestige and honor. If not…there was always the possibility of them stealing all the credit. No way would he let that happen.

"That fact, however, is subject to change should my demands go unheeded." The "Zero" character went on calmly. Many of Aleister's cronies behind him and to the side growled at such impudence and blatant disrespect for the sanctity of the Royal Person, but Aleister kept a cool head. He had to play this right, and it looked like the kidnapper was about to make his demands. 'Zero' and his corporate backers could be brought to heel once the Prince-and by extension and more importantly Aleister's own neck- was safe and sound on his way back to Pendragon to…recuperate from his terrifying ordeal, leaving his most trusted and competent savior and servant, General Aleister in charge of Area 11 while he was away…

"The contents of this disk contain a secondary video, which you will air _unedited-_I cannot stress this point enough. You must not alter the content of the disk in any way or his highness's personal safety cannot be guaranteed-on the emergency broadcast channel, unannounced, on the evening November Fifth at precisely 8:30 P.M. The video will conclude in exactly six minutes and thirty-two seconds. At such a point that the video reaches it's conclusion, Clovis' location will be revealed." Aleister reached for the disk player to remove the DVD for analysis. Until he heard the next sentence.

"A warning…" Zero said quickly, but no less sharply than before. "This disk has been specially manufactured to play both of the videos exactly once. The video's will play _only once_, and burn out as they do so. If the second video _does not_ play tomorrow night, indicating that you have accessed it, Clovis will die in a very spectacular and public manner. Please grant my reasonable and benevolent demands, and I give you my word of honor as a gentleman and a warrior that Prince Clovis will be returned to you unharmed and in mint condition. As a show of good faith, I will allow the Prince to speak with you for exactly twenty seconds, starting…now." The silly cartoon image of the mustached man's face blinked out to reveal a haggard looking Prince Clovis, who blinked once and then started to speak lowly, almost in a whisper. His raspy voice was amplified by whatever recording equipment Zero was using, and it occurred to Aleister that the Prince might not have had anything to eat or drink since the night before the grand opening of the Memorial Museum.

"Aleister…" The prince called out, desperately. He breathed heavily and was sweating profusely. "Aleister…listen to him! G-give him whatever he wants! Just do as he says, and get me out of here!" The Prince started shouting towards the end, and had to pant breaths between words. Aleister winced at the sight of Clovis' plight. There was no permanent damage, certainly, and the video could only play once apparently, but there were over a dozen men in the room with him. If it ever came to light that he saw this and did nothing, leading to the Prince's death…the quick death at the hands of an OSI assassin would be tender luxury he doubted he would receive.

The twenty seconds ran up as Clovis said his piece, and the video went out with a click. He had Hartley examine the disk, and the outer part of the rings were blacked and smoking a little as he removed it from the player. Aleister grimaced as Zero's threat rang true. His hands were tied.

"Well…what are your order, General…?" Remington asked, all bravado vanished in the face of such a shocking display.

Aleister sneered in contempt at the feigned subservience. Remington had challenged his promotion to general on the basis of his relatively low birth, as Remington himself had been a lord of considerably higher social rank but with less martial prowess. Aleister only kept him around because his father would cause a whole lot of problems for him if he dismissed Remington out of hand. Now, of course, Remington probably counted his blessings that he wasn't the man in charge of _this_ clusterfuck…

"_We_ have no choice." Aleister emphasized the first word. If he was going down, they would be joining him at the gallows. Of that, at least, he would make certain. "We'll let him have his show…and then we'll hunt the smarmy bastard down and introduce him to how real Britannians _deal_ with traitors…"

The conversation faded out on that dark note as Aleister dismissed all of them with a stern warning not to breathe a word of this.

* * *

**Tuesday, November 5, 2015 a.t.b.**

"Dad!" Shirley called out. Her father was over in dining room, working on his tablet. "Dad! Come see this!"

Joseph Fennette slowly walked into the living room to see what was up. "What is it, sweetie?" Rose was away on a business trip, so it was just him and Shirley right now. He wanted to spend more time with his daughter, but things had been pretty hectic at the office lately.

"It's the emergency channel!" She exclaimed. Joseph tensed up. The emergency channel was a system implemented all throughout the empire and every single Area in order to get out a message quickly if anything important happened. He took a seat next to his frightened daughter and put a comforting arm around her, even as his other hand turned up the volume.

It was…unconventional, to say the least. A man wearing some kind of spiky mask with an indigo polarized circular faceplate who was wearing a black cloak with a white ascot tucked into it. He was sitting at a cleared desk with gloved fingers steepled beneath his chin, with red curtains in the background.

"Good evening, Britannia!" The man said in a booming, echoing voice. Shirley and her father listened with rapt attention. They were doubtlessly not the only ones, as the emergency channel overrode every other station and monopolized the TV satellite's bandwidth. Everyone sitting in front of any active television screen in Britannia capable of receiving satellite signals was now watching this announcement. "Allow me first to apologize for this interruption. I do, like many of you, appreciate the comforts of the everyday routine, the security of the familiar, the tranquility of repetition. I enjoy them as much as any bloke. But in the spirit of commemoration - whereby those important events of the past, usually associated with someone's death or the end of some awful bloody struggle, are celebrated with a nice holiday - I thought we could mark this November the fifth, a day that is sadly no longer remembered, by taking some time out of our daily lives to sit down and have a little chat." The voice drawled towards the end, almost bemusedly. The masked man leaned a little closer to the camera.

"There are, of course, those who do not want us to speak. I suspect even now orders are being shouted into telephones men at computers are trying very desperately to take me off the air. Why? Because while the truncheon may be used in lieu of conversation, words will always retain their power." The man emphasized that statement by extending his arms and shaking his fists out in front of him, and then going back to his lackadaisical steepled position. "Words offer the means to meaning and for those who will listen, the enunciation of truth. And the truth is, there is something terribly wrong with this country, isn't there?" It was at this point that Shirley raised a confused eyebrow, but Joseph broke out into a cold sweat. He was beginning to suspect that this was not an official announcement condoned by the Britannian Media Authority…

"Cruelty and injustice...intolerance and oppression. And where once you had the freedom to object, to think and speak as you saw fit, you now have censors and systems of surveillance, coercing your conformity and soliciting your submission. How did this happen? Who's to blame? Well certainly there are those who are more responsible than others, and they will be held accountable. But again, truth be told...if you're looking for the guilty, you need only look into a mirror." His tone became accusatory, and rather matter of fact. Shirley gasped, but Joseph remained still, listening intently. A broadcast like this…and on the national emergency system. This…this was history in the making.

"I know why you did it. I know you were afraid. Who wouldn't be? A family of all powerful genius children, a rich history of corruption and political instability. The Emblem of Blood… There were a myriad of problems which conspired to corrupt your reason and rob you of your common sense. Fear got the best of you and in your panic, you turned to the now Emperor Charles zi Britannia. A usurper, a fratricidal monster, and a tyrant besides. He promised you order. He promised you peace. And all he demanded in return was your silent, obedient consent." Shirley gasped in disbelief at what she was hearing, and Joseph narrowed his eyes. It was as he feared.

"Last Sunday, I sought to end that silence. Last night, I kidnapped the Third Prince of Britannia, Clovis la Britannia, to remind this country of what it has forgotten. More than three hundred years ago, a great citizen wished to embed the fifth of November forever in our memory. His hope was to remind the world that fairness, justice and freedom are more than words - they are perspectives. So if you've seen nothing, if the crimes of this government remain unknown to you, then I would suggest that you allow the fifth of November to pass unmarked. But if you see what I see, if you feel as I feel, and if you would seek as I seek...then I ask you to stand beside me, one year from tonight, outside the gates of the Imperial Palace! And together, we shall give them a fifth of November that shall never, ever, be forgot!"

With that final, damning, treasonous statement, a pair of gloved hands-identical to the hands of the the man on the screen-emerged in front of the camera. They seized the edged of the spikes on the helmet, and reached to activate some unseen switch. The mask opened up from behind and was lifted off the man's head to reveal…a head of blonde hair and a face of pale skin on a man with frightened blue eyes?

It was…it was Prince Clovis! He seemed to look above the camera in horrified and confused incomprehension. His mouth gaped open, and a syllable started to roll off of his tongue.

And then a single, bloody, small, circular hole opened up right between his eyes and a resounding bang boomed into the camera's microphone, almost blowing the Fenette's speakers. Shirley and Joseph stared at the screen in horrified awe as that same voice thundered again as the screen began to fade to black.

"Witness the fate of those who choose to turn a blind eye to the injustices of Britannia. This country was once great, a prideful nation of ingenuity, liberty, and the very beginnings of a truly free society. You have just entered a game of chess that you cannot afford to lose, people of Britannia. There remains only one question for you to answer. One question, one and only one choice that will determine your future-if any-In the world of tomorrow. White, or Black?" the man stepped onto the otherwise pitch black screen and lifted up a black chess piece in his right hand-a king- and toyed with it. With his left, he brought up a white king piece. This one, however, was different. It was missing it's head. A jagged, semi-circular scar was on the 'neck' of the piece, suggesting that it had been shot at close range to remove the head. The man on the screen placed it on some kind of invisible table, almost carelessly, and underneath it was the illuminated image of the Emperor, Charles zi Britannia. The screen abruptly cut to black fully and went to the test pattern of the multiple and gradually darkening colored rectangles.

Joseph knew what he'd seen. It wasn't an announcement. It wasn't a statement. It wasn't claiming responsibility. It was a declaration of war.


End file.
